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anemosagkelos rolled 1 20-sided dice: 1 Total: 1 (1-20)

anemosagkelos

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Posted: Sat May 30, 2015 4:09 pm

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Time
The world gives out from beneath her forelegs and she stumbles head over hooves. Around her, blackness glitters with neon lights -- luminescent bubbles rush inward and inside she sees herself. One is of such shock, she gasps and reels backward, crashing into a fragile bubble that shatters into glass.

She collides with herself, submerges into her own body from youth. All awkward limbs and too big ears, she is dropped into a mess of movement. Terrified awe mounts in her muscles and she tremors. It's a mass of writhing water snakes.

And suddenly, she is hungry. Ravenous and old, young, newborn. She is -- awake. A sound has cut through her slumber and she blinks, groggy and disoriented. It does not repeat and she slumps back down.

anemosagkelos rolled 1 20-sided dice: 1 Total: 1 (1-20)

Posted: Sat May 30, 2015 4:49 pm

Time
The movement around her ankles is aggravating and she stomps harsh and hard -- waits for the hiss and bite of teeth -- but it is no longer watersnakes. Kelp bobs within the waves and User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.

she moves through it onto the shore where the wind rams into her.

"It's time!" the cry comes, threads into her ears until she is nearly deaf from the shrill insistence. Resistance spikes within her and she folds her ears tight against her skull. It is of little use, the sand beneath her hooves trembles in a rhythm that sings the same words. Defiance, strong and harsh, settles within her bones.

She whirls around and thrashes back into the water only to find she cannot swim. Bones laced with the steel of stubbornness have made her heavy and she sinks like a boulder. The air bubbles escaping from her mouth taunt her with their mantra, "It's time! It's time!" Soon even fish are joining in to mock her with the world's decision.

The water delivers her to the mountain top -- her fur is sopping wet and the snowfall sticks to her like a tick. Ice forms along her tail and hair until she is little else but a frozen statue. And still the world insists that it is time.

Between the barest movement of lips, a growl of breath, she makes her own decision.

"It's not."

anemosagkelos

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anemosagkelos rolled 1 20-sided dice: 11 Total: 11 (1-20)

anemosagkelos

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Posted: Sat May 30, 2015 4:50 pm

Day
The night pulses around her -- kin glow like fireflies, flit in and out of her vision -- until she has to close her eyes. But her vision is not ended; indeed her eyes are lidless. She is all seeing in the dead of autumn. (Why is it autumn and not spring? Why the red-orange-brown of change and not the green overgrowth of abundance?)

Sight without the ability to unsee comes with overbearing burden -- tension fissures along her spine until cracks seep into her vertebrae. Weakness, drought, coldness assault her tender heart. And then the firefly-kin grow teeth.

Knowledge crashes into her; formless it crawls into her mouth and down into her lungs until it infects her heart, spirals intoxication through her bloodstream until even her mind begins to burst. It's too much; she is paralyzed.
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The firefly-kin besiege her. Their teeth are quick pricks of pain but their lights are fire. It burns and tears into her fur, ravages her skin until she is bare. The bugs cling to her, feed and she is forced into movement. She runs, catches herself on the winds guidance and flies.

It is not the air that provides balm but water. It is rain that cleans the critters from her body. And yet it is only balm, not relief. Elusive is ignorance now; elusive is rest.

She hides within the moon -- settles herself on her wings -- and waits. Sight and knowledge coach her in patience. Crowd her until she is meek and malleable. And she does not notice herself fall; does not notice the moon's underbelly as she tumbles downward. Bright green eyes stare as eternity unfurls before her.

Dawn's light bleeds through the curtains of the weeping willow until she is turned golden. Awakened, she steps out of the body of a doe she no longer is. It is a new day; a new lifetime. The world is hers to burn. (No; it is to be mended and balanced!)

A voice whispers, "Oh, little docile lamb."

anemosagkelos rolled 1 20-sided dice: 20 Total: 20 (1-20)

Posted: Sat May 30, 2015 4:52 pm

Sleep
She is the last.

The quiet is suffocation; the isolation is stillness. She is alone except for the thousands of kin and familiar and pet -- and the crane who stretches across the desert sand, one feather tip curled around her back. She huffs and lounges her chin on its -- ever changing color -- neck.

Insomnia in a dream. (Worst mushroom ever.)

She puffs butterflies into the space before her but they float away and she's bored-annoyed-pissed. So damn wide awake.

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There's a moment where she tries to name fruits or vegetables but she cringes when a mass of them land on top of the crane, swears it pulls her closer in attempt to choke her.

Even the cacti are drooped over as though asleep and she finally screams -- a trillion eyes look at her. She flushes, mutters darkly.

"It helps if you close your eyes," the crane tells her. Amused.

She quashes the snarky reply and closes her eyes.

The quiet is obliterated; the isolation is constant.

She is the last kin to fall asleep. The last kin to accept death after she's buried all the bodies that went before her.

The kin around vanish and she sleeps.

anemosagkelos

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